


Little Gifts

by Archaeodigit_dima



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, a little bit beat up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-19
Updated: 2015-10-19
Packaged: 2018-04-27 01:57:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5029270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Archaeodigit_dima/pseuds/Archaeodigit_dima
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Napoleon gives little gifts to Illya, and Illya really likes it. It is just fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Gifts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sal_paradise](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sal_paradise/gifts).



> New at this, so feedback would be great.

Illya was starting to get use to Napoleon disappearing randomly when they were on a mission in a new country or city. Napoleon would be there one moment and gone the next, only to appear again twenty minutes later with a little bag in hand. 

“Where were you?” Illya said with his heavy Russian accent, the first couple of times this had happened.

Napoleon never had an answer for him. He just gave Illya the cheekiest smile he could muster, and then moved on to discussing the mission that they had been sent there to do. Illya would let out a noise of frustration which only served to make Cowboy’s smile grow.

It wasn’t long after this that Illya would start getting little tissue wrapped gifts. The first time he had found one of these little gifts had been when Kuryakin was opening his bag not long after their adventure in Italy. 

~~~

They were on an overnight train from Berlin to Warsaw from there they would take a plan to Istanbul. They had gone back to Berlin after their mission from Italy to get some of Gaby’s personal belongings before setting off on their mission as the team called U.N.C.L.E. They were all still recovering from the last mission, Gaby and Solo had fallen sleep not long after the train had left the station. Gaby was spread out on the seat across from Peril and Cowboy. Solo at first had used the wall as a pillow but not long after had leaned over in his sleep and started to use Illya’s shoulder as a pillow. At first he had stiffened, but then he had gotten use to the fact that – for some unknown reason – Cowboy trusted him so he relaxed. 

After trying for thirty minutes to get some sleep too, Peril decided to give up. He was too on edge to get any meaningful sleep. Carefully, trying not to wake up the sleeping cowboy, Illya grabbed his bag to get out a book to read. To his surprise, on top of his book there was a little gift, wrapped very carefully in tissue paper. There was a little note attached that read: “I absolutely hated working with you Peril.” It was signed cowboy.

Illya took it out carefully, looking over it to make sure that it wasn’t some kind of bomb or anything that could hurt him. Peril still wasn’t really good at trusting anyone, so he was naturally suspicious of anything that the American was giving him. After all, they had been ordered twice to kill each other; although why they hadn’t followed through with their orders still wasn’t clear to him. Peril wasn’t sure what made him so upset to kill this one man. It wasn’t like he hadn’t killed before but there was something about Napoleon that brought him some sort of comfort, a trust that he hadn’t really ever experienced.

Once Illya was sure the tissue paper wasn’t going to kill him, he started to unwrapped the present. There were two little items in it. One was from Italy, a little metal replica of the motorcycle that he had thrown on top of Alexander Vinciguerra. The other was the little compass with an anchor design on it that Peril had been looking at earlier that day when the two of them had gone on walk while Gaby had been packing up her stuff. 

“Hope you like them Peril,” Napoleon said sleepily.  
Peril startle by Napoleon’s voice breaking through the silence of them cabin. He looked down at Solo who was watching him. 

“Thank you,” was all that Peril could think to say. He wasn’t use to anyone giving him gifts that someone had put thought into; not since his father had been sent to the gulags. Sure his mother had given him gifts but they had been things that had been tossed away by one of her many other men in her life, nothing that a young boy would have use for or even care to own. 

Napoleon nodded slightly into his Illya’s shoulder. 

“Glad you like it Peril,” Cowboy yawned and then fell back to sleep.

Illya turned over the bike several times, looking at the details the craftsmen had put into the model. It was beautiful. Then he rubbed his hand over the etching of the compass, feeling the concurs of the owl that was drawn on the surface. Flipping open the compass Illya noticed that there was an inscription on the back of the cover that read “Illya Kuryakin Red Peril.” It wasn’t inscribed by a professional but it looked like Solo had done it himself, it wasn’t perfect but it was clear that Napoleon had tried his best to steady his hand when etching it into the compass. A small smile made its way to the edge of Kuryakin’s face, a rare sight. He wrapped the motorcycle back up and placed it into his bag. The compass he held tight in his hand before putting it in his jacket pocket. Then he began to read his book and watch over his sleeping partners for the rest of the train ride. 

~~~  
One year later

The last mission they had been on had not gone exactly as they had planned. Gaby had come out not too worse for the wear; dislocated shoulder, a sprained ankle and quite a few scraps and bruises. Napoleon had come out out with a cut on his left arm that needed about four stitches and a black eye.  
Illya hadn’t been so lucky. Peril had been fighting off a group of five men armed with knives while Napoleon helped Gaby get into their get away car. The five men were highly trained, although not trained enough to defeated an extremely angry and protective Peril. He managed to get four of them knocked out but the fifth mercenary got lucky. He came quickly from behind and Illya wasn’t able to move quick enough away. He was caught by a deep slash to Kuryakin’s right side. He had cried out, the pain driving him to one knee moving his arm over where he had been cut. Illya had already been tortured by the mercenaries while Gaby and Cowboy had been getting the information they needed. They needed a distraction to keep the guards busy and Illya had been that distraction. Three of his ribs had been cracked while his whole right side was bruised, making it difficult to move as quickly as he usually could.

“Peril!” Napoleon yelled as he ran to where his friend was in danger.  
The mercenary was about to deliver the final blow to Illya right when Napoleon sent the man flying. The proceeded to knock him out cold with a quick kick to the head.

“Peril look at me,” Cowboy whispered to him, carefully placing a hand on his shoulder. “Come on when need to get out of here before more back up comes.” Illya could only grunt in agreement.

Solo pulled one of Illya’s arms around his shoulder and tried to get the much larger man to the car. It was slow work but they managed to make it to the car just as reinforcement got there. With Napoleon at the wheel they managed to quickly loose all of the cars following them and get to their safe house with only Gaby getting car sick once. Napoleon’s driving skill left something to be desired. 

Napoleon brought both Gaby and Peril into the safe house. He had placed Gaby on the couch in the front room. Solo quickly stitched himself up before moving on to Gaby and Illya. He gave her some pain killers, wrapped her ankle and placed it on top of a pillow. As painlessly as he could, he popped her shoulder back into place and put into a sling. 

“Okay are you done torturing me?” Gaby commented. “You should really take care of Illya, he isn’t looking too good. Plus, I want to get some sleep.”

Solo looked over to where Peril was lying on bed were he had put him down. He was extremely pale and the makeshift bandage Napoleon had made to slow the bleeding was looking quite red. Solo grabbed the first aid kit from the coffee table, walked over to the liquor cabinet and grabbed a rather large bottle of vodka, then headed over to Illya.

“Hey Peril how are you doing,” Napoleon asked cautiously, worried by how pale he looked. He didn’t get much response from the Russian, just a grunt that probably meant something similar to horrible but I am Russian so I won’t say a thing. 

Sighing Solo went to work on Peril. He took his jacket and shirt off to see how bad the mercenaries had hurt his Russian. Napoleon had a sharp in take of breath when he looked over Kuryakin. There was hardly a place on his chest that wasn’t heavily bruised, his forearms where equally covered from where he had held his hands up to protect his face. The cut on his right side was bad but had luckily not hit anything too serious. Although it was going to need at least seven stitches. Anger went through Napoleon as he took in all the damage they had done to Illya, he should have been there to help him. 

Carefully Napoleon went to work on cleaning the wound and stitching up Illya, with only the occasional moan of pain from the man. Exhausted by the time he was down, he took a rather large swing of the vodka himself and began to clean up all the bloody gauze and placed in the garbage bin. 

“Illya my friend, I think your jacket is done,” Napoleon commented as he went to throw it into the garbage with the rest of the blood soaked items. 

“NO!” came the first real word Illya had said since they had left the mercenaries compound.

“Huh?” came the ever so elegant response from the startled Cowboy.

“Pocket … something is in there …” Peril stuttered out, clearly not fully conscious. 

Napoleon grabbed the jacket and felt in the pocket. As Illya had said there was some small and cold in there. Grabbing it, he pulled in out to see what had made Peril get so upset about loosing it that it would get passed the haze of pain that was clouding the Russian. To Napoleon’s surprised he recognized the little item. It was the compass that he had given Illya over a year ago. The one will owls on it that he had inscribed on the inside. Holding it in his palm he was startled by the presences of it. He hadn’t expected Peril to have kept it, never mind have kept it so close. The fact that Kuryakin had got so upset by the idea of loosing it had Napoleon speechless. Not something that happened very often. 

“Y-you kept it?” Napoleon spluttered as he had the compass over to Illya, who began to rub his thumb over the owls as if he gained comfort from the curves and bumps. 

“K-kept all of them,” Illya responded, opening his eyes to look at Napoleon who had become extremely still. Peril glanced over at his suitcase by the door, “See?”

Napoleon followed Illya’s gaze to the bag. Taking the Russians cue he walked over to the bag and opened it up. 

“T-he b-box.”

Napoleon found a brown cardboard box. It was a little worn on the edges. Taking it out, he walked with it to the bed and sat on the edge of the bed. He opened up the box and was surprised by what he saw. All the little trinkets that Napoleon had gotten Illya from each place that they had gone to. All the little handwritten letters that he had written were there as well. He hadn’t expected Peril to keep them. 

“You kept them all,” Napoleon said, even though that much had all ready been said.

“Da,” Illya said.

“But why?” Solo let slip what he was thinking.

“No one else ever gave me something that they put thought into,” Illya responded quietly. Looking down as he did, his features softening from their usually seriousness. There was a kindness that was rarely seen on his face. 

“The only thing that I had gotten before that meant something was my father’s watch,” Illya muttered. “But these had thought behind, you etched in the inscription yourself.”

“Because I c-care about you,” Napoleon said, surprising himself as he said. He had never though to say such a thing a loud.

“I know cowboy,” he said calmly. “Now get down here,” Illya said with more force.

Napoleon did as he was told, laying back on the pillow. Illya shifted slightly so that his head was resting on Solo’s chest. Napoleon moved his arm so that he could pull Illya closer. 

“So what is the next thing you are getting?” Illya asked. 

“Not telling,” Napoleon giggled. “Now shut up and get some sleep.”


End file.
